


Survival of the Fittest

by myshkaa



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Claiming Bites, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myshkaa/pseuds/myshkaa
Summary: People were terrified of the woods, and Jonny liked it that way.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	Survival of the Fittest

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Excited for this to get posted :D my first 1988 fic
> 
> A big big thank you to [Dauhu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dauhu/pseuds/Dauhu) for being such an awesome and supportive beta/cheerleader :'D couldn't have done it without you! <3

Autumn was the season of the dying. The loud life of spring, the chatter of squirrels in the dewy mornings and chirping choirs of crickets heralding dusk, gradually dimmed, like a candle snuffed out through a lack of oxygen rather than a sudden puff of air. Death crept into existence, with trees turning into skeletons and unpicked fruit rotting in the dirt until autumn was upon the town, its announcement nothing more than smoke silently curling through the air. The whole world became muted, falling silent alongside the dry leaves. 

There was something in the woods. The news traveled through the town like an unwelcome visitor; nobody knew from where it had come from, but once it arrived it was almost impossible to miss. It invited itself into people’s homes, making space for itself at their dinner tables and bedsides. The fire glowing in their hearths became a necessity rather than a comfort, a ward against whatever evil was out there. Whispers spread of wild animals being discovered, eviscerated beyond simple survival of the fittest. Claw marks were found, too deep and too long to be bears’ claws gouged into trees. People were terrified of the woods, and Jonny liked it that way. He liked that they could barely look into the depths of its trees, let alone enter it, and that hunters were now wary of turning into the very prey they once enjoyed snaring. Darkness enveloped the town earlier and earlier with every passing day, bleak sunlight bringing no relief come dawn. 

The woods bordered the northern part of the small, remote town where Jonny lived, and to him, it was just as much of a home as the house he lived in his whole life. He grew up in its embrace, spent lazy summer days exploring as much of it as he could in order to still make it home in time for dinner. Jonny came to know every running stream, hidden path, and creature that the woods had to offer, so when he returned home for the first time in four years to find the town gripped with terror at the emergence of a vicious predator, he had only smiled in satisfaction. 

Autumn was the season of the dying, so it wasn’t long before death made itself known in the town. 

****

The evening sky was a slate grey, moon hanging low beneath the clouds, when old Widow Maggie arrived home from the farmer’s market to discover her German shepherd slumped through his dog door, already swarming with flies. She dropped her groceries, her screams and the sharp shatter of a glass jar piercing the tense silence of the town.

Few came to her aid; window shades were pulled up and curtains pushed aside as neighbors watched the events unfold from the safety of their own homes. The street was lined with the dark voids of open windows, the faces pressed against them creating eerily pale pupils that mutely watched Jonny make his way over to Maggie’s house. Her cries, dreadful, animal wails, had cut out, but the silence was just as disquieting.

Maggie was kneeling over Toby, her face buried in the thick fur of his neck. A handful of people had already arrived and were milling about; Jonny could see some in the kitchen, busy with the kettle, while others were trying and failing to pry her from what remained of her dog. As he drew closer, the extent of the damage became more evident―Toby wasn’t so much mortally wounded as completely ripped apart. Viscera was pooled beneath his furry body and smeared on the floor of the porch, coagulating in a glossy, lurid puddle, and Jonny was reminded of how the wild tomatoes growing along the side of the road were often run over. There was a curious beauty to the pulpy clots of red splatter, and Jonny remembered how he used to step on the tomatoes to feel their skin burst beneath his shoe, to see how the mush glistened in the dirt. 

Jonny crouched beside Maggie, touching her elbow lightly.

“Time to get up now, Maggie.”

She looked up at the sound of his voice, but didn’t move from her vigil over Toby’s body.

“Jonathan?” Her voice was a croak, mangled from her cries, and she lifted her tear-streaked face to look at him.

“Hi Maggie,” Jonny made sure to smile warmly. He had arrived home from college a couple days ago, widely unannounced to the majority of the town, so he took advantage of her surprise to steer her up and into her living room. She clung to him as they slowly moved, her hands staining his forearms with Toby’s blood. Jonny imagined her staggering over to the dog as fast as she was able to, frantically pressing her frail hands to the warm blood matting his fur. Maggie sagged into her rocking chair, and someone pressed a steaming cup of tea into her shaking hands.

Jonny lowered himself into the overstuffed couch next to her, and they sat in silence for a while, letting the sounds of the people outside wash over the room. Usually, Maggie was an animated spirit, far more lively than one would expect a woman her age to be. For as long as Jonny could remember, she looked the same, for all appearances not aging a single day. Now, however, her floral dress blended into her armchair, making her look like she was slowly retreating into it, and her wrinkled face stood starkly out in contrast, decades of life suddenly weighing down on her like never before. 

When it seemed like her hysteria had simmered down to a quiet grief, Jonny spoke. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Maggie choked back a sob and set her undrunk mug onto the coffee table. “My poor Toby. I should have known better than to let him out, with the other animals that were found.” 

She wrung her hands together, distraught. Jonny felt a dark sense of delight twist within him, a lovely, nasty thing. She should have known.

“You couldn’t have known,” he soothed her. “Those were all wild animals—deer, squirrels.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears once more.

“Toby loved to chase squirrels,” she wailed.

She folded in on herself, withdrawing into the armchair even more. Jonny made the appropriate comforting noises and handed her her handkerchief from the table, which she blew her nose on noisily. He was refraining himself from wrinkling his nose in distaste when the screen door creaked open. Mike, Maggie’s next-door neighbor, came into the house holding a mop and a bucket of red-tinged soapy water and looked at Jonny.

“Some of us are going to track the blood trail, see where the dog was attacked.” He winced and quickly glanced at Maggie, who only sobbed harder into her handkerchief.

“I’ll come with you.” Jonny rose from his seat right away. 

Mike nodded in acknowledgement. “Maybe we’ll meet whatever did this to him and end it once and for all.”

Jonny was about to walk out of the living room when he felt something tugging at him. Upon glancing down, he saw only Maggie, her hand feebly fisted in his shirt.

“Be careful out there.” She dabbed her watery eyes and trained them first on him, then Mike. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Jonny took her hand in his and smiled. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t get hurt.”

****

Upon stepping onto the front porch, Jonny found Mike and a small group waiting for him. 

“Harvest moon.” Mike nodded up to the sky, painted a streaky, bloody red by the sunset. “This’ll give us some extra light.” 

Jonny grinned at the bright moon filling the sky. 

Maggie’s house lay on the edge of town, so they only had to follow the brown, crusted drops of blood a short distance until they reached the lip of the woods, the trees towering over them like watchful guardians.

The soft susurrus of leaves quietly rustling in the cool breeze was the only noise they heard as they stepped into the woods, not a single active animal heard rustling through the undergrowth or chattering unseen in the background. The silence was heavy, almost expectant. Waiting to see what they would do. Everyone was acutely aware of the way their footsteps broke the stillness, crunching through the fallen dry leaves in crisp bursts. Nobody dared speak, their eyes trained on the ground in search of, and in the pretense of searching for, the blood trail marking the tragic coda of Toby’s life. The woods were awash with the dying rays of the sun, the red light filtering through the trees.

The trail was soon lost as grass turned to damp dirt and foliage, but they walked for a while more, maybe because they hoped to pick it up again, or maybe because they didn’t want to return to Maggie so soon, empty handed. Still nobody talked, seemingly an implicit agreement amongst them all. Humans, Jonny reflected, amused, were a sort of pack animal themselves.

He thought the trees watching them, of the trees hiding things that might be watching them. He thought of Toby, barking happily after a squirrel jumping through the branches, distracted enough to miss the presence hunting him. He wondered if _he_ was being hunted right now and was filled with anticipation, eagerness. Hope. The trees pressed in around Jonny, hemming him in until he felt like prey himself, but he was more alive than ever, adrenaline racing through his veins at the very thought. Jonny mimicked the hushed shuffle of the others but felt like a live wire, humming with untapped energy.

The blood trail starting at Maggie’s house had been smears leading up to the dog door, then round drops on the stairs and sidewalk, up until the trail had been lost in the grass. Something had carried the dog, depositing him on the porch and letting him drag himself to the door, to the safety that he knew lay on the other side. He hadn’t made it, but it was nice, Jonny mused, that he had been given a chance. Prey being toyed with. How considerate. Toby hadn’t been eaten at all, just ripped to shreds like the other animals that were found. No, this was to send a message—one that Jonny was reading very closely.

Before they knew it, the shadows had silently lengthened until they engulfed the world. Dusk had arrived, and Jonny could see the others getting antsy, their eyes flicking nervously around them. He knew that everyone else was thinking the same thing: what sort of animal lurking in these woods was capable of ripping apart a large dog like Toby? Those who brought guns gripped them tighter, while those without drew closer to them. 

When only the moonlight remained to illuminate the silhouettes of the trees, Mike cleared his throat. The noise was one of the first that anyone had made since entering the stillness of the woods, save a few stifled sneezes, and everyone swiveled around to look at him.

“We should start heading back,” he said, his loud voice wavering as it filled the quiet. The leaves rustled above him as if in warning.

The agreement from everyone else was quick and relieved, delivered in nods and murmured yeses, and they started to retrace their steps to go back to Maggie’s house. _What a pity,_ thought Jonny. The woods at night were one of his favorite places to be.

Maggie was still slumped over in her rocking chair when they returned to her house, looking for all the world as if she hadn’t moved since they left her. Jonny said all of the right words, took her hand in his and offered her a fresh handkerchief as she dabbed her eyes, but he tuned her out as she tremulously thanked them for their efforts and went to the kitchen in the pretense of making her another cup of tea. As Jonny stood over the sink and filled the kettle, he looked through the kitchen window facing the woods. He breathed in the house’s musty floral scent, wishing that his lungs were being filled with the crisp, biting night air that he knew lay on the other side of the glass. The wind was whistling through the rustling trees, and as he peered into the black of the woods, faintly illuminated by the harvest moon, he heard the distant sound of a wolf howling. Jonny smiled, pleased. 

****

Jonny left Maggie’s house as soon as he could, citing that he had to get home to his mother; especially now, she didn’t like him being out late, you see. He quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the door, and Maggie’s gushing about _oh he’s such a good young man_ was cut short and replaced with the sighing of the breeze. Jonny breathed in deeply and shuddered as the refreshing chill of the night seeped into his skin, replacing the stuffiness of Maggie’s house. He then turned and started walking—not to his house, but rather the woods.

With every step that he took towards the trees, first on the sidewalk and then the grass, he felt as if he was vibrating with energy once more. _You can go back, you can go back,_ raced through his traitorous mind. He had a college diploma; he could move away from this town and never return, never look back at what he was currently walking headfirst into. He knew that he probably should. But he didn’t want to. Jonny entered into the trees, and the feeling of being hunted once more washed over him as it did in the evening. He savored it, letting it fill him with nerves until his heart was hammering in his chest.

The chilly autumn wind swept through the trees and whipped around Jonny’s clothes, making him shiver. His surroundings were illuminated faintly by the moonlight, trees looming into view out of the darkness, but Jonny knew these woods like the back of his hand. He walked further into its depths without a destination in mind. He wasn’t looking for anything; he would be found.

At first, all Jonny could hear was the whooshing of the leaves in the strong breeze and his own breaths, and then. The crack of a branch being stepped on behind him. 

It was barely audible, yet to him its presence was just as loud as a gunshot. He froze, and his breathing quickened in anticipation.

“Patrick?”

Only the wind whistled in reply. Jonny stood stock-still, not daring to look around or even move. He stared blindly into the inky darkness in front of him, honing in on the sounds surrounding him, waiting for another clue, and spun around as soon as he heard the faint rustle of leaves behind him. A wolf melted out of the shadows, padding closer and closer to Jonny until it sat a little more than an arm’s reach away from him. Its thick grey fur shone in the dappled moonlight filtering through the trees, and it watched Jonny with a sharp, intelligent gaze.

Patrick.

They stared at each other, neither saying a word. Jonny’s heartbeat sped up until it felt as if it was beating right out of his chest. He knew that Patrick could hear it. He fumbled for something to say; the moment was fraught with tension, tension built up over many nights spent staring at the moon and wondering whether Patrick was doing the same. Whether he was waiting for Jonny to return, too. 

Jonny met Patrick’s eyes, a pale, unearthly blue watching him back, and between one blink and the next, the wolf was replaced with a man, looking at him with those same eyes. Jonny’s breath caught in his throat. Patrick had changed. His eyes still tracked Jonny’s every move with an inhuman focus, and his hair still curled over his ears the same way it had before, and Jonny choked back a shuddering sigh of relief as he soaked up those features, comforting in their familiarity. But he was now bigger, more threatening, in every way possible. Jonny took in the wide breadth of his shoulders and the obvious strength of his muscles, the way even his presence seemed to fill the empty spaces between the trees until he was towering over Jonny.

Patrick was the first to speak, his low voice slipping through the silence like a ripple over a still lake.

“Did you see it?”

“Yes,” Jonny breathed. “Yes, it was beautiful.” Coming home to see Patrick carving out his territory, forcing everyone to acknowledge that he was there—there for _Jonny_ like he said he would be years ago. And Jonny had had to act like nothing was wrong, like he was just as terrified of Patrick as everyone else, when all he wanted to do was howl at the top of his lungs. _That's my mate. That’s my mate and you will never have him like I will._

Jonny ached. He ached for the years he spent alone, waiting until he was able to return to the woods, to Patrick. He ached for Patrick, the feeling of his strong arms around him, his warmth, the way he treated Jonny as _his_. Because Jonny belonged to him, mind, body, and—now that it was the harvest moon—his soul as well. 

Suddenly Patrick growled, the sound ripping through the air.

“You smell like _him._ ” His teeth were bared in a snarl, eyes darted over Jonny’s body with a keenness that made Jonny feel stripped bare before settling on Jonny’s arms. Jonny chanced a quick look down only to see where Maggie had pressed Toby’s blood onto his skin. He looked back up at Patrick, his heart in his throat.

“Who am I supposed to smell like?” he asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Patrick’s pale eyes flashed, and Jonny was reminded how even as a man, the animal wasn’t far beneath the surface. “You’re mine,” he rumbled, and Jonny once more felt like prey, in the most wonderful way possible.

“Then make me yours,” Jonny challenged, begged, even as his instincts screamed at him to run away as fast as he could.

Patrick paused and locked his eyes onto Jonny’s, settled down into a stillness that Jonny recognized as the measured calmness of a predator preparing to attack.

“Run,” he said.

Jonny bolted.

****

Branches reached out towards Jonny, long grasping fingers of gnarled trees trying their best to clutch at his clothes and slow him down. One snapped into his face as Jonny twisted around it, and he winced at the searing line of heat on his cheek but dared not stop, or even slow down, for a second. Patrick was right behind him. He couldn’t hear anything, but he didn’t have to. He knew. 

Jonny might know these woods like the back of his hand, but they were Patrick’s territory.

Jonny was gasping for air before long, his muscles burning with the strain of the chase. As he leapt into a small clearing, a dark blur appeared in his peripheral vision before suddenly, he was on his back, Patrick looking down at him with a sharp, satisfied smile, not even a bit out of breath.

He was magnificent, looming over Jonny, drenched in the moonlight.

Jonny was breathless, not only because of his sprinting, but also because Patrick was finally touching him, a warm, heavy weight on top of his thighs. Jonny wished that they could stay in this moment forever, pressed close together.

Patrick’s curls ruffled in the wind as he bent down, his eyes shining a dangerous, playful shine. He cupped Jonny’s jaw in his hand, thumb softly running over the thin trickle of blood where the branch had whipped into him.

“Caught you,” he purred, his breath hot against Jonny’s ear. He nipped it playfully, huffing in amusement as Jonny twitched.

Jonny very deliberately tilted his head to the side to bare his neck, relishing how Patrick’s eyes locked onto the exposed skin, pupils dilated. He felt his heavy gaze running along the length of his throat as powerfully as if it were a touch.

“Are you gonna keep me?” Jonny asked, drunk on adrenaline, on the power he knew he held over Patrick, just as Patrick held over him.

Patrick ran his nose over Jonny’s throat, and Jonny could hear how deep he was breathing, taking in lungfuls of Jonny’s skin. Finding the best place to bite.

“I’ve thought of this moment for so long,” Patrick murmured. “I know exactly where I want my Mark to be. Right… here.” 

He set his teeth into the muscle where Jonny’s neck and shoulder met, and Jonny pressed into the sharp canines threatening to puncture his skin.

“Do it,” he breathed.

Patrick’s teeth sank into his skin, deep.

Only the moon stood witness as Jonny’s screams rent the air. The wind blew them in every direction, carrying them through the woods, up towards the stars. In town, people tossed and turned in their beds, suddenly restless.

And then, as suddenly as it started, the world grew quiet once more.

****

The scene was discovered the next day. A shredded pile of Jonny’s clothes—the clothes that he was wearing yesterday, in fact—lay in the center of the clearing. And the blood. So much blood, drenching the scraps of remaining fabric, splattering all over the grass.

Jonathan Toews was mourned as a tragic fatality, another character to be added to the ghost stories about the woods that would be passed down to the future generations of the small town. The sentiment circulated around town was that he was simply claimed as another victim by the woods, and whatever lurked within.

It wouldn’t be a while until people felt safe to go outside again, until they believed that whatever scourge that was set upon the town had passed. They huddled together in their little houses, warming themselves by the fires and speaking lowly to each other. If any of them paused, they might hear over the sound of the crackling logs two wolves howling in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> hockey tumblr: [jbone1988](https://jbone1988.tumblr.com/)  
> writing tumblr: [myshkaa](https://jbone1988.tumblr.com/)


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